


Finding Home For The Holidays

by TaraGeek



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:42:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaraGeek/pseuds/TaraGeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time Myka forced herself home she hadn’t been back in almost a year. There had been plenty of excuses, honest ones but excuses none the less. She’d been busy and the degree she was on track for required all the work she’d put in. Her parents understood that, they welcomed it but it was Christmas and Myka wanted to be home for the holidays.</p><p>At least, that's what she planned.....her relationship with Helena "H.G." Wells ended up bringing her more than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

By the time Myka forced herself home she hadn’t been back in almost a year. There had been plenty of excuses, honest ones but excuses none the less. She’d been busy and the degree she was on track for required all the work she’d put in. Her parents understood that, they welcomed it but it was Christmas and Myka wanted to be home for the holidays.

Paying the cab driver and assuring him that no, she’d be fine with her bags Myka stopped outside of Bering and Son’s. The winter evening’s air should have been relaxing, festive and full of promise for the holiday to come but instead her gut just twisted and Myka found herself shivering, literally frozen to the side walk as lights shone down from the apartment above her parent’s store.

“This is so stupid.” She whispered to herself tucking windblown curls behind her ears as neatly as she could and adjusting her beanie.

“You’re home, you want to be here!”

Home was one thing and the store would always be that, first trip home since transitioning though! That was a big deal, a big deal that she really, genuinely did not have a clue about the out come of. Sure her parents knew, they’d known since a painstakingly composed e-mail freshman year and her visit home last Christmas but the reality of her life was more than theoretical now, it was more than words on a page. A years worth of hrt plus the growing comfort in her own skin that transition and college afforded were sure to bring her family a different prodigal than the one they imagined.

Closed for the night, the store remained familiar. Floor boards creaked were they always had, the smell of paper and old leather bindings took years away and despite a cover of darkness Myka could have listed an index of the stores likely content and where to find the works of Shakespeare or Proust’s Swan’s Way in the original French without even the meager light that the stair way leading to her parent’s apartment provided.

Her tentative journey upstairs was inevitably accompanied by smells particular to the season, cinnamon, cookies and apple cider wound their way down the stair case. Voices filled with warmth and laughter penetrated the old wooden door that was the last remaining barrier between Myka and her family, between welcome or rejection. Choosing to accept the festive promise she was met with Myka steeled herself a final time and made her way inside.

“Mom ? Dad ? Tracy?” She called into the brightly lit hall way. 

Laying down her bags and removing her hat and gloves to again tidy her hair, Myka nervously combed fingers through her curls. Tucking and then un tucking them from behind her ears she quickly forced herself to stop, arms dropping to her side, fists wound tightly into two knots.

“I’m home!” She continued as laughter and conversation ceased and her family appeared in the hall way.

For the briefest of moments the Berings stood together in silence, taking the moment in for the meaning that it had until Myka’s Mom stepped forward. 

“Sweetheart.” She comforted

Myka let out the breath she’d been holding as with warm eyes and out stretched arms Jeannie Bering drew her daughter into a hug.

“You’re cold!” She continued, rubbing hands up and down Myka’s arms as she withdrew from the embrace.

“And look at this hair! Where did it all come from eh?” She announced bringing a tender hand to Myka’s face, lacing their fingers together with the other.

“It just grew out this way.” Myka replied with a nervous laugh.

“I’ve been thinking about straightening it.”  
“Oh no, no don’t you touch it!” Her mother assured.  
“You look just like your grandma, doesn’t she Warren?”  
Myka drew her gaze to meet her father’s. He nodded in unavoidable admition drawing his attention back to his wife.

“If you say so Jeannie.”

“Definitely.” Jeannie assured once more, squeezing Myka’s hand.

“Let’s get you warmed up!”

Familial warmth in her childhood home was quickly forthcoming and Myka was plied with Cider and cookies as her family gathered around a warming fire and their Christmas tree. She’d been seriously nervous about what her home coming might bring but it seemed like her mother at least, was making every effort to re assure her. Since Myka’s arrival Jeannie had yet to slip up on pronouns or use her daughter’s old name. 

Her father and sister had been quieter. 

Myka had never been close with Tracy, they were siblings but their lives were always separate. They seemed to want different things out of life and life certainly seemed to want different things out of them. Still, Myka could tell that Tracy was trying. She was staring too, obviously still trying to work her sibling, her sister, out.

Myka’s Dad remained a particular presence in her life. They weren’t close, even if they were a lot alike. They read the same books, knew the same languages and both found refuge in the store and what it offered but honestly, Myka was as nervous and as fearfull of him as she’d always been. Their similarity had only ever encouraged her father to push her and it seemed like she’d never lived up to his expectations. She was sure that her transition would only complicate things between them.

Conversation remained generally quiet, happy but quiet. The topic stayed mostly on the subject of Myka’s education and on college. The elephant in the room had been talked out a year ago and her family were avoiding the reality that this was the first year they visibly had two daughters, instead of a daughter and a son. Myka hadn’t decided how she felt about their avoidance yet.

They were deep into the subject of her Victorian literature class and decidedly away from the possibility of her continued participation in the university’s competitive fencing, when her phone began to buzz. She’d been prepared enough for her father’s stance on the matter to switch it to silent before arriving but she answered it anyway.

“Sorry.” She non the less apologised. Flashing a quick, nervous smile at her parents.

“It’ll just take a minute.”

The display read Pete and she quickly hit answer, letting out a breath of stored up tension as she drew the phone to her ear.

“Hey.” She greeted.

“Ophelia, pray tell how doth milady?” Came a jolly reply before the voice continued in an only slightly heavier tone.

“How’re you doing Mykes?”

Myka laughed and relaxed against the door inside her childhood bedroom.

“Well it could be worse. I haven’t managed to completely piss my Dad off yet or disappoint him too much, as far as I can tell at least. Mom’s trying though.”

“Well score one for you huh? See I told you it’d be fine.”

“So far.” Myka clarified.

“Remember it’s not the same for me. They’re not your family.”

“Well yeah, the Lattimers are pretty awesome!” Came Pete’s reply.

Pete Lattimer had been an unlikely friend. They shared a history class under the curmudgeonly tutelage of Professor Nielsen but on paper they shared little else other than the medical care of Dr. Frederick at the Regency clinic. Pete was a sweet guy, being friends with him was sometimes a little like living in a cartoon but he had her back. He actually seemed to get her and like her. He was good for her too and she enjoyed his influence in her life. He had his own issues which were mostly in the past but he was blessed with a mother and sister that he was insanely close to. A family he’d trusted unflinchingly through his own transition.

“You’re gonna be okay Mykes.” He continued.

“If any body can do this it’s you! You’re pretty awesome you know.”

“Yeah.” Myka confirmed only half earnestly, bringing up a hand to massage the back of her neck.

“You tell ‘em?” Pete asked, seriously this time.

“Are you kidding?” She laughed.

“Transition is enough to deal with without bringing up anything else!”

“Okay.” Pete agreed.

“But if you need anything...”

“...then you’re only a phone call away.” Myka completed.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Pete assured.

“Now go, eat cookies! Drink cider! Go excersize that mountain blood and get colder than any human being has business getting!”

“Will do.” She agreed again, through a thankful grin.

“Have a good time with your Mom and your sister! And say hi to Kelly for me.”

When she re entered her family’s living room all eyes were on her expectantly.

“A boy?” Her Mom smiled knowingly as Myka sat down and picked up her drink.

That she’d dated guys wasn’t a big deal for her family, even for her Dad. They’d known about that and even been fond of Sam in her senior year of high school, before everything that happened with him, before he left. That was not her relationship with Pete though. Even if it wasn’t for his girlfriend Kelly she just didn’t think about Pete that way! He was like her brother and they were closer than they’d ever have been if they’d dated.

“No Mom... God no!” She got out quickly, almost on instinct, reeling back from the idea.

“It was a boy but Pete’s just a friend okay?”

“Okay.” Jeannie replied, raising her hands skeptically.

“If you say so honey.”

This happened a lot when people first met her and Pete. It was frustrating that their first instinct was to pair the two of them up like that. She was used to it though and she wasn’t going to push the point too much, not with her family at least, not now.

The evening wore on with more talk and investigation of her academic career and Myka almost..... almost let herself relax. A level of acceptance, even one that came with the piercingly quiet judgement of her father was more than she’d hoped for at one point. The Berings were feeling each other out, taking time in their own way to get to know each other again and to work out what the recent permutations in their lives meant to one another, so far at least. Myka had decided to put the effort in to do that. 

With effort to concentrate on her family’s conversation as earnestly as she could and due to the fact that after Pete’s call, her cell phone was both silent and out of her pocket. She failed to notice it buzzing once again.

If she had noticed her phone then her family would certainly not have, in due course, heard a brisk rapping from down stairs on the store’s front door.

With the noise, Warren was stirred from his own concentration on the topic at hand, looking up at his wife with a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

“At this hour?” He reproached.

“They can’t seriously expect to get service, what do they think we are?”

“It might just be the wind ?” Jeannie offered, hardly sounding like she believed her own theory and adding,

“Just ignore it, they’ll go away.”

“No, no.” Warren huffed.

“They don’t get away that easy, I’ll go and see what it is.” He insisted.

“Be carefull down there in the dark Dad.” Myka’s sister offered, raising from her seat.

“You want one of us to come with you?”

“Don’t fuss!” Warren called back from the top of the staircase.

Warren Bering certainly knew his own store well enough to be in no danger at all from the dark, even if there were a few loose floor boards poking up or down from wear or from age. Despite his years or his family’s concern he considered himself quite capable of seeing off customers who didn’t understand that a store’s opening time came with a limit!

What he found at the door was a young women taking refuge from the evening’s flurry of snow. She wore a long dark overcoat and a mid blue shirt poked up from behind her grey scarf, it spilled out in twists from underneath her coat’s collar in contrast to her waves of dark hair and she made quite the striking image. Pulling a hand away from it’s rest deep in her pocket and running it through the length of her hair, she gave Warren what he could only describe as a smirk through the opening door.

“Good evening.” She began before Warren could say anything.

“I was wondering if I might speak with Myka? My name’s Helena, Helena Wells.” She clarified, offering her hand out boldly, in greeting.


	2. Chapter 2

“Good Evening. I was wondering if I might speak with Myka? My name’s Helena, Helena Wells.”

The young woman, Helena, offered her hand out boldly in greeting. Pausing expectantly, her arm remained out stretched as she raised a quizzicle eye brow in response to Warren’s lack of reciprocation.

“We’re friends from university.” She added, her tone more serious and her brow furrowed but peppered with the remnants of her previous smile.

“From university?” Warren questioned as Helena finally withdrew her hand, un shaken, burying it again in her coat pocket.

“We share literature and history classes.” Helena replied.

“And you’re here, at this hour because.....?” Warren questioned, his tone demanding.

It was honestly a fair question. The middle of a Colorado winter, on Christmas break, thousands of miles away from the university that they shared and at approaching 11 o’clock at night was hardly a typical time to call. Especially for someone whose accent seemed to suggest home as far away from Colorado Springs. Helena’s demeanour remained bold and cheerful however. She was seemingly oblivious to the inconvenience these matters posed and in drawing through other emotions, her expression retained the daring smirk she had worn upon Warren’s first arrival at the door. It was not helpful in ingratiating her to his good favour.

“Just calling.” Helena insisted.

“Christmas greetings and all that!”

“Well young lady it’s late and she’s only just arrived herself. This is hardly an appropriate time.” Warren replied almost awkwardly, his tone only growing in annoyance.

The reply was pausing, he carefully over emphasised and narrowly avoided tripping up on the words she and her in relation to his child.

Helena pressed on.

“I promise I’ll just be a moment.” She continued.

Before Warren could reply, before he could finish his lengthy contemplation of this stranger’s  
insistence, a voice broke from upstairs.

“Warren, you still there? Everything okay honey?” Came Jeannie’s voice, accompanied by the creak of her passage down the apartment’s stairs.

“I’m fine!” He called back into the store.

“Nothing to worry about!” He completed before turning back to the young woman at the door.

“Just the tiniest moment I promise.” Helena insisted again, raising her hand to barley form the distance of an inch between her thumb and index finger.

Warren took a thoughtful breath, furrowing his own brow and completing his thoughts on the matter. With arms crossed over his chest he simply announced.

“Wait here.” 

Upon meeting Jeannie at the bottom of the stairs and with his own firm insistence in full force, he turned back to Helena.

“We’ll go and get her.”

Helena raised her right hand to her forehead in jovial salute to acknowledge her understanding.

Myka responded quickly and in surprise to the news of Helena’s arrival. She carefully avoided her family’s curiosity at the stranger’s presence but she was unable to suppress the wide smile that broke onto her face, unable to hide that fact that she was pleased by it.

Myka had only recently met the young literature and engineering student. Helena, “H.G.” Wells was both apparently and distantly related to the author from whom her nick name stemmed and she shared Professor Nielsen’s history class with both Myka and Pete. She was very smart but non the less seemed unable to avoid the Professor’s wrath for one reason or another. Either through open criticism of his teaching methods or from the unavoidable and brilliant but narrow escapes from academic failure that where her stock in trade and came as a consequence of her regular lack of attendance in class.

Myka had always admired the only slightly older student’s mind and her abilities but they didn’t begin to grow close until meeting by chance in the waiting room outside of Dr. Frederick’s office. Until that point Myka hadn’t even known that Helena was trans. She’d transitioned years ago, during high school back in the U.K. and apparently the transfer of her medical documents to the States was more complicated that it could have been. Helena had even been prepared to forgo the need for a Doctor and she considered herself quite capable of procuring, or producing the necessary medication for the up keep of hrt herself. She eventually found her way to Dr. Frederick’s office only by virtue of recommendation from the university medical school’s vice principle Dr. Kosan.

Their conversation went, in quick succession, from the often adversarial nature of trans health care to the themes present in late 19th and early 20th century science fiction, including whether it was best to read Jules Verne in English or French. Myka would barley admit to it at the start, even with Pete, but the more she got to know H.G the more fascinated by her she was and the more comfortable, the more desiring of her presence she became. According to Pete and often to his concern given Helena’s unpredictable nature, her crush was increasingly obvious.

Making her own way into the store, Myka appeared in greeting, smile and surprise still written over her face.

“Helena?.....” She questioned, quickly moving from stairway to front door. 

Reaching out to draw the visitor further inside, her hand lingered and remained gently resting on Helena’s arm.

“ .....What’re you doing here?”

Helena grinned back at the question, returning Myka’s smile. Stepping in further and closer she replied.

“ Well, every family enjoys a visit from Carol singers you know!”

Myka dipped her head, shaking it in amusement.

“You’re gonna sing me Christmas Carols?” She replied with a raise of an eyebrow as she met Helena’s gaze.

“Well...” Helena began.

“I might..... but I’ve also found something.”

Her expression grew serious and intent with the admission. She moved quickly to the store’s counter and removed her messenger bag, retrieving her computer and a manila file, stamped N.S.A. Special Investigation on the cover.

Myka drew in closer, equally as intent. She flipped on the counter’s light and paused only briefly to look her companion over before drawing her attention back to the counter and it’s new content.

Helena flipped the file open, spreading several specific documents and photographs from among it’s contents over the surface. She took a breath and looked them over for a moment.

“So..” She began.

“What we know so far is that decades ago an N.S.A. agent, one Arthur Weisfelt was investigated on suspicion of treason against the United States. He apparently sold secrets, including a number of rare antiques and historical artifacts to the Soviet government. He was charged but very quickly disappeared, never to surface again.....”

Myka nodded in agreement and in concentration, her attention equally trained on Helena and the documents before her.

“Until, that is.....” she continued seamlessly from Helena’s sentence.

“..... “Professor Artie Nielsen.” begins to teach history at a certain university. They’re in fact the same man.”

Helena pulled two photographs to the center of the table, one a black and white mug shot featuring a sturdy young man with dark, curly hair. The other was a far more modern and candid picture of what appeared to be the same man. Except, now he was decades older with graying hair, a goatee and glasses. The photograph featured him busily making his way through a hoard of students on a college campus. He was the very picture of a stern and crotchety old academic carrying a pile of papers under one arm and an inexplicably old, leather medicine bag in the other.

“Right.” Helena confirmed.

“We also suspect that a series of recent thefts from the Metropolitan Museum of art in New York City may in fact be linked to Mr Weisfelt. He was present, ostensibly for the purpose of academic research trips, during each corresponding time frame and we also know that his supposed visits to Columbia University were bogus.”

“Columbia had never heard of him.” Myka added.

“But it’s all circumstantial. The timing of his trips, his intimate knowledge of items, some of which have been lost for over 30 years, his past.....”

“The fact that he disappeared without conviction, without record of even a day spent in federal prison for his crimes!” Helena clarified, fire rising in her voice.

Myka remained calm, taking in Helena’s passion. The case that they had been forming, initially by the “coincidence” of documents uncovered by the British student during her reading on cold war spy rings, at first seemed incredible. She had quickly conceded however, that Helena’s evidence made a very compelling case. One that, in an earlier form, university authorities had dismissed out of hand. Even levelling threats of academic suspension or harassment charges should Professor Nielsen be bothered with such ridiculous claims. Helena had been un deterred by the threats and Myka found herself unable to dismiss the apparent validity of their case, or the mystery it posed about either the Professor or the darkness it seemed capable of drawing out in the young woman she was growing increasingly close to.

“The key fact, remains.....” Helena calmly began again.

“That if he is doing this, then he can’t be doing it alone. There must at least be an accomplice or a contact, probably one through whom items are being fenced.”

“That’s very high end fencing!” Myka offered, drawing back to look up from the papers at her companion.

“Indeed.” Helena confirmed.

“But.....” She continued pulling a second file from her bag.

“I have a name, James McPherson.”

Opening the second file, Helena revealed an array of documents, most of which seemed to match the first in age. They included pictures of Weisfelt, aged somewhere between the previous two photos and standing next to a tall, skinny man with a mop of dark hair. The pair were pictured from some distance, next to a river in an un determinable European city.

“McPherson.....” Helena began again.

“ .....is former British S.I.S. and a confirmed cold war era college of Arthur Weisfelt. Unlike Weisfelt he was never charged with treason. He did however quit British intelligence services in the early 1990‘s and is subsequently the prime suspect in a series of high end robberies and counterfeiting cases.”

“Weisfelt and McPherson are working together?” Myka announced.

“This is what I think.” Replied Helena.

“But.....” She started again, turning away from the papers to face Myka, arms crossed.

“.....if we are going to link them together, today then we’ll need hard evidence. Both men have travel arrangements to be in Chicago, their trips coincide with a holiday gala that the city’s Art Institute is holding in the next week. Various visiting collections are being shipped in for the event.....”

“.....and it would be a perfect opportunity to grab items in transit.” Myka, again completed.

“Exactly.” Helena confirmed.

“If we’re going to catch them, then we’ll need to be there.”

Helena reached back into her bag and retrieved two plane tickets, holding them out to Myka.

“Now?” Myka sputtered in surprise.

They’d been building the case, fervently and she had every intention of following through to find proof of their suspicions. Helena’s expectation that they fly off at no more than a moment’s notice, to confront or at the very least to follow potential art thieves, art thieves who were quite possibly involved in a very high end heist however? It was more than she had expected and there were other things on her mind besides the criminal career of a college professor.

“Helena,” She began, gesturing around the store as she spoke.

“I’m here trying to re build a relationship with my family. I can’t just leave at a moment’s notice. I barely arrived hours ago!”

She saw the flinch, the vulnerability in Helena’s expression that her words drew out. It also drew her closer to her companion as she felt her own gut twist at the hurt on the other woman’s face. It was a side of Helena that she barely showed, just a hint of the darkness that Myka had sometimes sensed in her. Reaching out, even closer to again gently grip Helena’s arm, her tone softened.

“I know this is important to you. It’s important to me too but what am I supposed to tell my family ?”

Helena’s face twisted again and her eyes grew cold as she nodded in understanding. Myka knew that there was more to this case, more to Helena’s obsession with it than she’d shared. Myka also knew that she cared more about the other young woman than she’d admitted and whatever the unspoken reason for Helena’s need to follow it, she cared about that too. She cared about it beyond the fact that it was a mystery to be solved.

Nodding for a second time, Helena looked up, back to Myka and drawing herself together through an unsteady breath, she spoke again.

“Please.” She offered, holding Myka’s gaze.

Before Myka could speak, before she could respond in either the positive or the negative, the store’s main lights flickered on to reveal her mother and father, newly arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Their silent moment broken, the intimacy of it too much for either the sudden and harsh glare of the lights or the gaze of outsiders, Myka turned to face her parents, quickly removing her hand from Helena’s arm.

“Sweetheart ?” Jeannie began.

“Won’t you invite your friend upstairs ?”


	3. Chapter 3

“You can’t just up and leave with a moments notice like that !” Warren Bering yelled as Myka pulled on her coat.

“I told you,” She began.

“this is important.”

Suppressing a childhood’s fear of parental disappointment, of lack of understanding and sliding her bag over her shoulder, she turned to her to face her father.

“I’ll be back.” She calmly clarified, shifting her gaze between Warren, Jeannie and Tracy.

“What’s this about ?” Warren demanded again.

“You won’t even tell us that!”

“I can’t get into it now,” Myka responded.

“it’s something that I have to do. That we have to do.”

“Sweetheart, we’re just worried. We want to know what’s going on.” Jeannie pleaded, slipping a calming hand into her husbands tense grip.

“I promise I’ll explain later.” Myka continued through wide, worried eyes, willing her parents to understand by emotion alone and beginning down the stairs, where Helena was waiting.

“And this is all to do with her I suppose!” Warren announced upon view of the mysterious stranger who was leaving with his child.

Myka threw one last glance up to her family, adjusting the strap over her shoulder and pulling in a strained breath.

“I’ll explain later, I promise.” She begged.

“Oh there he goes!” Warren started, growing further out of earshot with each step Myka took through the store.

“Always taking the easy way out! Never sharing a thought that goes on in his head !”

Sliding next to Helena in the back seat of a waiting cab, Myka grimaced and gritted her teeth.

“I’m sorry.” Helena offered carefully, turning a concerned gaze her way.

“If I’d have known.....”

“No, don’t worry.” Myka assured, cutting her off.

“It would have happened one way or the other, it always does.”

The flight from Denver to Chicago was uneventful. Aside from delays due to snow, it was actually pretty calming for Myka. The comfort she found in working through the case they were dealing with and the ease she felt at Helena’s presence, of sharing it with her, were a lot more like home than her parents apartment had been. She regretted that distance and she’d honestly meant everything she’d said about explaining later, about re connecting with her family. As she sat next to Helena though, flying some were over Nebraska and Iowa she could have kicked herself for actually feeling happy.

She’d called Pete before they boarded their plane, so at least someone knew where they were. Having known about the case for a while and having begrudgingly acknowledged the likelihood of what Helena was claiming, he’d been equal parts worried, shocked and not at all surprised to find out what they were doing. He’d offered to jump on a plane himself, reminding her how dangerous their plans might be and she’d told him no.. but thanks, she appreciated it. He’d then launched into a succession of kissing noises and suggestive references. Claiming sarcastically, how romantic investigations into art left and espionage must be what she’d always dreamed about and how lucky she was to have Helena show her such a good time. She’d hung up with an amused whatever Lattimer and promised to check in again in the morning.

The Art Institute of Chicago was buzzing when they arrived, even at 8am it was apparently a hive of activity, busy with preparations for the prestigious holiday gala it was shortly to host.  
An impressive 1890‘s structure, along with it’s modern wing it sat in the city’s Grant Park and was was the second largest art museum in the United States. Housing an impressive array of impressionist and post impressionist work in it’s permanent collection and currently home to several visiting pieces, it seemed to Myka, an obvious and probably unavoidable target for Wiesfelt and McPherson.

The likelihood of it’s targeting was one thing, doing anything about it was another. Myka was fully committed to what they were doing but as they made their way to a thankfully unattended fire door on the building’s southern side, she began to doubt the possibility of success.

Perhaps sensing her doubts, Helena turned to her with an utterly familiar and daring smirk as they paused in the secluded alcove offered by the door.

“Put these on.” She insisted handing Myka a roll of pale blue cloth that she had taken from her bag.

Myka’s doubt was followed by amusement and then quickly, other feelings as Helena removed her own coat and began to unbutton her shirt, looking back with an eye brow raised.

“Admiring something ?” Helena offered as she pulled on overalls that clearly marked them as maintenence staff. Drawing up her zipper up far more slowly than could possibly have been warranted, she was clearly enjoying the moment.

Emboldened by her companion’s joie de vivre, Myka completed her own disguise. Pulling her hair into a pony tail behind her matching cap and stepping in front of Helena to place a hand on the still locked door, she replied.

“ Maybe..” Before adding.

“.. but first we need to get through this.”

“Have no fear.” Helena quickly assured.

“I come with back up!”

Retrieving her tablet from her bag, Helena attached a series of wires between a near by electrical junction box and the device. Quickly bringing up a file that read, KNOCK KNOCK, she entered a series of commands. Calculations ran for a few moments and finally, the door shifted open with a barely audible thunk.

“courtesy of our friend Claudia.” Helena announced.

Myka nodded with familiar affection at the name, Claudia Donovan was at first an acquaintance and then a friend, another gained though time spent at Dr. Fredericks office. The girl had a traumatic background, but an understanding older brother she had re connected with after years apart in the foster system. Although only 16 years old Cluadia had pushed through a mountain of struggles, including time spent at an institution. She’d fought, first for her own transition and then for early entry into university, studying computer science. Courtesy of their equally brilliant minds and work in over lapping fields she had become fast friends with Helena.

Mentally filing away the last of her own caution, the instinct held back, ready but currently not what she needed. Myka pushed the door open and boldly stepped inside. Looking over her shoulder one more time, she called back,

“You coming ?”

Helena gave a satisfied twist of her head and followed.

Blending in with a sea of identically uniformed workers and through no small amount of forged paper work that Helena again produced. They made their way in quick succession beyond the fervent loading and unloading of items and the Institute’s loading area.

“So, this is it?” Myka questioned with a quizzicle focus on the large painting that sat un hung before them.

“Alice Liddell’s portrait. Alice Liddell as in Lewis Carol. Alice in Wonderland.” She continued matter of factly. 

She knew the history of the book and how Lewis Carol had created the original story for a real life girl, Alice Liddell. She knew how it had been published, she knew it’s printing history and that of it’s sequel. She’d held original printings of both books in her family’s store and she’d watched intently as a five year old when her father restored one of them.

“It’s a rare piece.” Helena assured.

“Many of the works that this museum houses are, however this one has never left London.   
It’s never been on display in public before and there are plenty of people eager for a closer look, given it’s history with the author.”

Myka had heard those stories too, stories about the painting’s effect on people. The urban legend that was Alice Liddell’s madness and Lewis Carol’s involvement. How, over time the painting owners suffered succession after succession of madnesses and bloody ends. The legend held no sway over her though. No sway save for the fact that it was an interesting part of the book’s history. She could see how it was a likely target given previous lefts linked to Wiesfelt and McPherson.

Standing next to Helena in the darkened gallery where it was to be displayed, the painting glared at them through the shadows and Myka couldn’t help but feel a chill at the figure’s stare. She felt an almost inexplicable familiarity to the fear that it stirred in her. She also felt the rush of what they were doing.The thrill of an adventure and the satisfaction that it was their’s alone. She should have been home, proving to her parents that the daughter in front of them was in fact the daughter they always had. She should have been surrounded by the wholesome warmth of a family Christmas. She probably should have been suffering through the assurance, that no matter the details of her life, her father would never be satisfied with her G.P.A.

But honestly..... 

.....she preferred being right where she was. She held on to hopes of a Christmas filled with snow and trees and magic too. She was just kinda hoping that now, it might include Helena.

Buoyed by what they were doing Myka looked over at her companion. Helena was concentrating in momentary study of the portrait. Her head was tipped to one side and her shiny black hair fell over one shoulder as she craned her neck toward it to see better in the darkness. 

“It wasn’t originally a painting you know,” She began.

“Well..... the frame at least.”

“It was a mirror.” Myka replied, eyes still locked away from the object of their discussion and onto her companion.

“It belonged to Liddell, she turned into a portrait because of the second book.”

“She was desperate to make her journey into wonderland real.” Helena continued.

“I’d have liked to meet her. She sounds like a fascinating woman.”

“Mmmhmm...” Myka offered, no longer listening to the specifics of what Helena was saying, intent only on her voice instead.

“Are you listening to me?” Helena reproached with a grin, turning to face Myka.

Myka felt heat run quickly into her reddening cheeks as she fell under the other woman’s gaze.

Helena continued to smile. It was her daring smile, the one accompanied by bright and shining eyes that she wore so often and had probably been the first thing Myka had noticed about her. Stepping closer, well into the range of personal space, she raised a hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Myka’s ear.

“It appears that Miss Liddell isn’t the only fascinating woman in the room.”

Myka’s cheeks reddened, but she failed to turn her gaze away. Instead, only biting her lip and feeling her breath hitch as she tried to speak.

“Personally,” Helena whispered, drawing closer.

“I think that there’s someone here who’s far more fascinating than either Miss Liddell or myself.”

Forgetting the reality of where they were, Myka found herself only taking in Helena’s proximity instead. If she’d have been thinking at all she would have remembered the numerous times she’d fantasised about kissing Helena. She’s have remembered the way she’d dismissed it as impossible or burned with frustration, not knowing what Helena wanted, not knowing if what she was feeling could possibly be mutual. Instead, so far away from their everyday lives, they drew together again. Tilting her head and reaching a hand to brush the nape of her companion’s neck, Myka closed the distance between them.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.

A sharp metallic click and corresponding creek echoed around the room shaking both women, breaking them apart again barely a moment after their lips began to meet. The gallery's heavy wooden door began to creep open, revealing a chink of orange light that broke through from the gallery next door.

Myka's eyes shot wide, quickly grabbing Helena's arm as they began to dash for cover.

"The hallway!" She shot out.

In a matter of moments they were obscured from view, both breathing hard and pressed against the wall of a darkened corridor. Myka was hyper aware of Helena's body at her side,her mind racing with the reality of what they’d been doing only moments before but also re awakened to their purpose in the museum.

"It's the crew to mount the painting." Helena whispered, training her neck around the door frame just enough to see.

The workers in question were busy preparing equipment, sizing up their task and assessing the technicality of hanging the important work. Numbering a half dozen and seemingly assured of their task, they posed a problem .

" we can't drop our listening equipment with them in there! " Myka continued.

Helena was less troubled by the sudden upset. She just raised an eyebrow in confidence and began again, back into the gallery.

"What are you doing!" Myka called after her, volume raised to the maximum possible for a whisper.

"Reassigning work orders." Helena announced over her shoulder, not loosing step.

She went quickly to work, inexplicably brandishing yet more papers at an incredulous crew. With a succession of affronted huffs the crew beat their eventual retreat, leaving Helena alone in the room, surrounded again, only by the darkness and the likeness of Alice Liddell.

“It’s clear!” She announced, voice returning to it’s full volume, beckoning Myka’s return.

“How did you do that?!” Myka replied, eyes and smile wide as she again made for the painting.

“ I come prepared.” Helena assured, passing the surely forged paper work that had earned them privacy Myka’s way.

“Now, equipment!” She began again.

Dropping to her knees she began to lay out an assortment of wires and electronics, the cameras and listening devices necessary for their purpose.

Briefly rifling through the papers, Myka quickly abandoned them, looking down at her companion and the array of equipment being assembled on the gallery floor. With an amused grin she was re assured of their ability to do the work but she couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret. She couldn’t prevent her mind from again returning to the kiss they’d almost shared and despite her own professionalism, damning the interruption that had prevented it.

The listening devices that Helena had prepared were mostly custom, perfectly suited to their task but never the less a symptom of her sometimes feverishly active mind. They ranged in size and appearance to a dizzying degree, some small, sleek and simple, some that Myka had honestly given up on even trying to understand. They were complex and it wasn’t as if Myka was opposed to technology but these seemed more like they belonged to another time or place. Dark wooden cases were intricately carved with decoration and fitted with polished brass cladding that was more suited to the books written by Helena’s ancestor than to the here and now. Everything was quickly assembled, finding it’s hidden place, ready to prove the miss deads that had been predicted.

Helena grew quiet as they lay in wait and monitored their equipment, hidden this time in a maintenence corridor a suitable distance from the gallery. Myka’s mind wandered through intense focus on the task at hand, satisfaction of a point potentially proved and a wrong righted to thoughts on how she ended up there and where she might be headed. She’d entered college sure that her future lay in academia, certain that a masters degree and Phd would follow her under graduacey but the more she had worked this case, the more her future seemed to be changing again. A life she thought she’d planned for might have been turning into something else, even regardless of her growing feelings for Helena. Then again, she guessed that might just be growing up.

Helena’s own motivation remained, at least partly obscured to Myka. She was falling pretty hard for the British student, their drives seemed to match each other and Helena’s many layers, her brilliance, her daring and even the deep shadows that lay, as yet un revealed all drew Myka inexorably closer. She was not however immune to curiosity about Helena’s past, she knew snippet, occasional and brief anecdotes about her family but the darkness behind her eyes, that was never explained. No matter how much Myka reached or how much they trusted each other, how close they had become.

Myka couldn’t help but wonder though, she couldn’t let go of that last piece of caution. Even if she was ignoring it.

Their intent vigil went on, one hour turned into two and still the gallery housing Alice   
Liddell’s portrait remained undisturbed. Forged documents that sent legitimate gallery staff away continued to do their work and two young women who had travelled a long way to prove a point waited patiently in the dark.


	4. Chapter 4

The sharp metallic click and it’s corresponding creek that had echoed around the room once before, did so again, breaking a silent vigil. Both women shot bolt up right, their concentration re doubled on the image playing out on Helena’s tablet screen. In place of the gallery crew who had been dealt with so effectively, there were two figures, two men steeped in the shadows provided by a still dark room.

“Weisfelt and McPherson?” Myka questioned, squinting at the screen and drawing her glasses from her overall pocket in hope of a better view.

“We’ll see.” Helena responded, her concentration only sharpening as she flicked through menus on her screen, switching to a night vision lense’s view of the intruders.

Focusing in shades of green, the newly clear picture revealed what had been planned for all along. The culmination of months worth of planning and the capture on camera, in the present day of Arthur Weisfelt and James McPherson. Together and decidedly not where they had any lawful business being.

“It’s them.” Myka announced, hand tightly clasping the headphone that rested on her right ear, ready for whatever would be revealed by the men’s actions.

Helena only continued to stare, her eyes locked and un blinking. If Myka had been looking her way she might have been shaken as the last shreds of expression drained from Helena’s face at the images unfolding before her before her.

Arthur Weisfelt and James McPherson had been trusted colleagues, friends and partners in a world that offered little by way of personal reward. Decades away from their careers, separated by years from the intelligence work that had been their lives they were now, no less focused. They were no less skilled as they went to work on the object of their concentration, the portrait of Alice Liddell.

“Quite captivating isn’t she Arthur?” McPherson considered pausing before the painting.

“Oh yes.....sure if you enjoy the suffering of a poor young woman that most people can’t separate from a Disney cartoon!” Weisfelt shot back, his hands furiously racing across their equipment. A prepared shipping crate and lifting devices that corresponded perfectly with Miss Liddell’s likeness. 

“The painting should have been hung by now, we might not have much time.” He continued, drawing on a pair of heavy leather gloves over his already latex covered hands.

Weisfelt’s companion only continued to stare in rapt consideration of the portrait. He may as well have been spending a lazy Sunday afternoon browsing the gallery or sipping champaign at the holiday gala the picture had been destined for.

“JAMES!” Weisfelt began to instruct, his temper only flaring.

“Focus and help me get this thing loaded! If we’re going to get it hidden in the right removal truck we need to get moving! You think Sykes is going to forgive ANY kind of slip up!   
That’s not what he pays for.”

Finally meeting his partner’s efforts McPherson turned his attention away from Alice Liddell, slipping on his own gloves.

“It’s still a pity that an uneducated twit like Sykes gets to decide the face of such a fascinating piece.” He replied working open their shipping crate.

“Well maybe one day you can buy it from whoever the hell he sells it to! Now hurry up!” Weisfelt again complained, through huffs that brimmed with righteous indignation and impatience at his partner’s unhurried pace.

“Oh I’m sure he’d let me live if I knew where it was heading.” McPherson grinned back.

The pair continued their work, busily loading the portrait. They were almost ready to make their retreat when the gallery’s back door swung open to reveal a young woman training a gun on them with cold ferocity.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Minutes earlier.

“The painting should have been hung by now, we might not have much time.” The heavier figure, Weisfelt insisted to his companion.

“This is it, we’ve got them!” Myka announced, excited and focusing in on the unfolding theft.

“Helena, we can prove it now.....” She continued, turning to her partner. Excitement and satisfaction breaking through her concentration.

“.....we can prove it’s Weisfelt and McPherson!”

Helena didn’t respond, her expression didn’t even flicker at Myka’s words. She just continued to stare for a moment, finally taking a shuddering breath before she turned.

“Myka.....I’m sorry.” Was all she said, her blank stare breaking painfully, if only for a moment as she spoke Myka’s name.

“..what?” Myka replied in confusion.

“Helena, what do .....?” She began to question, brow furrowing, honestly lost for her   
partner’s intent.

Helena didn’t wait for Myka’s sentence to finish before she sprung up, her hand quickly dashing into her bag. She snatched a shinning piece of metal that Myka barely got time to register as she sprinted toward the gallery.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Now

“Away from the crate.” Helena instructed, gun steady in her hand, trained squarely on the two men before her.

Weisfelt and McPherson turned her way, confusion breaking into caution as their eyes met her weapon.

“AGAINST THE WALL!” She commanded, slowly beginning to move toward her prey as Myka raced into into the gallery behind her.

“Helena!” She yelled from the doorway, panic torn across her face.

“Against the wall.” Helena commanded again, calmer and colder this time. Still utterly focused on Weisfelt and McPherson.

The two men looked from each other to Helena and then to Myka, as hands raised they heeded the instruction, backing against the gallery’s far wall.

“Young lady, I do not believe you know precisely what you are doing.” McPherson measured out, meeting Helena’s gaze.

Weisfelt’s response was characteristically more dramatic and familiar.

“Wells..??” He began, instantly recognising the students who knew him as “Professor Nielsen.”

“Bering..?? What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

Helena only drew her attention sharply into focus on her literature professor.

“What needs to be done.” She began.

“What I couldn’t do before.” She completed, stepping closer to Weisfelt.

Weisfelt didn’t blink at the gun pointed in his face. Meeting Helena’s eyes, he simply drew up in challenge.

“You don’t know what you doing you stupid child.” He spat out.

Helena’s response came instantly, she smashed him across the face with her weapon. Cold metal tore through flesh and knocked the middle aged man several feet across the floor as he staggered to stay upright.

“HELENA!” Myka yelled again.

“What the hell! What’s going on?!”

Helena’s grip re tightened on her gun as she drew it to Weisfelt’s forehead, ignoring Myka’s plea.

“HELENA!” Myka yelled once more, reaching out to her companion, carefully gripping her shoulder.

“They can’t do it again,” Helena uttered in low tones.

“I can’t let them.” She completed, roughly shrugging off Myka’s grip.

“Not after Christina.”

“Your sister..?” Myka questioned, inching almost imperceptible closer, turning to aim for contact with Helena’s eyes.

She knew only a little about Christina. Helena’s younger sister died shortly before she came to the states but that was basically all Myka knew. The entire subject was carefully avoided in conversation, details revealed only rarely, in vulnerable moments that were few and far between.

The Wells family had been comfortable, yet not without their own tragedies. Helena’s parents had both past away while their three children were still relatively young. At only 18 years old they left Helena, her younger brother Charles and her even younger sister Christina alone but non the less, well provided for. What Myka didn’t know, was that with Helena and Charles away and Christina in the care of a family friend, the Wells home, with it’s collection of historic books and rare antiques, had one night become a target for art thieves. Art thieves who bore little preparation for their discovery, art thieves who had violently dealt with the residents of a house they expected to find empty and who had, by their actions, ended the life of a six year old girl and her guardian.

“Tell me how to find him.” Helena demanded, making every effort to ignore Myka’s contact.

“Tell me about Sykes.” She continued, pressing the barrel harder into Weisfelt forehead.

Weisfelt was too calm for the situation he found himself in, bleeding from the gash across the cheek, he again fixed Helena’s stare with his own.

“You’re in over your head.” He warned.

“I don’t know what happened to your sister but trust me you do NOT want to go there. Give this up and walk away.....”

“.....both of you.” He added turning to Myka.

Myka was still reeling for the turn of events, she’d known, she’d guessed about the darkness that lay behind Helena’s eyes but she’d never gotten close to thinking it could be this. She’d never gotten close to thinking that Helena might kill to avenge her sister’s death, or to find the people responsible.

“Helena, you can’t do this.” She begged, forcing her face into her partner’s view.

“You don’t even know if it was them.” She insisted, looking to Weisfelt and McPherson.

“We’ll find the people who did it, we’ll find this Sykes person! If he’s linked to these two then we’ll find him. Just put the gun down.....please.”

Helena’s eyes fought to stay cold, to stay focused on Weisfelt. She was fighting to ignore Myka’s pleas, fighting to keep away any link to reason, any link to something other than the men who’d killed Christina. Men who made it possible to blame someone other than herself.

As Helena’s grip on her gun began to loosen, as her wrists starting to shake, imperceptibly at first and as tears welled in her eyes. Events took a chaotic turn.

McPherson lashed out, reaching desperately for Helena’s gip, his long arms straining and knocking the gun away from Weisfelt forehead.

Within a moment Helena’s eyes were dry again, she fought powerfully against her taller but older opponent, refusing to let the weapon out of her hands.

Myka wasn’t stupid, she could see where this was going and as foolhardy, as rash as it was, she joined the struggle, wrestling against McPherson and Helena’s attempts at control. The three of them fought for the weapon, flying hard against the gallery wall until, eyes now raging Helena swept a leg underneath McPherson’s own. Knocking him to the floor and pulling away the last of Myka’s grip in the process.

As McPherson fell, as his hands slipped across the weapon in a violent lurch and as he fought for his last grip, the inevitable happened. With a shuddering, echoing ring, a shot rang out. Flying past all three who had struggled for the gun and with a bloody suddenness, it exploded into Weisfelt, dropping him to the floor.

Blood quickly began to pour from his shoulder and he desperately reached for the wound, fighting to stem the bleeding. Myka reached forward too, quickly pressing her hands onto the gash, her eyes darting from Helena to McPherson and back.

“Somebody call an ambulance, NOW!” She commanded, straining to aid the wounded man. 

Helena was simply starring at the gun loosely retained in her hand. Her eyes were wide and blank, the world clearly dropping away around her.

McPherson paused for a moment, roughly slumped against the wall he took in his partner and the two women before him. Planting a firm hand on the gallery floor and hauling himself up right, he only briefly looked Weisfelt’s way.

“I’m sorry Arthur.” He admitted, limping as fast as he could for the gallery exit.

Myka only possessed basic first aid training and as much as she knew that gunfire would bring a more sizable audience to the scene. She also knew that her efforts to stem the bleeding, were temporary and in effective at best.

“HELENA, call an ambulance!” She yelled again.

Her call met with little effect save for a single shuddering breath that drew through Helena’s body. Straightening to her full height, shoulders drawn back, she pointed the gun McPherson’s way.

“STOP.” She called across the gallery.

Almost at the door, McPherson headed her instruction and paused, turning to face his would be assassin.

“This is pathetic, all you are is a scared little girl throwing a temper tantrum.” He shot back, raising his hands.

“You think that this will get you the men who hurt your sister?”

“The men who killed my sister.” Helena, very calmly, clarified.

“Maybe it won’t but if it doesn’t, you’ll never get the chance to find out.”

She trained the weapon up, aiming dead at McPherson’s forehead, stepping closer to him with a calculated coldness.

“You’ll never get the chance to hurt anyone else.”

“Helena, that’s not the man who killed Christina!” Myka called out, seeing exactly where events were headed and desperate to stop her from taking action that she couldn’t return from.

“I don’t care.” Was Helena’s only reply, her eyes fixed.

“On your knees.” She instructed McPherson.

“Hands behind your head.”

Myka should have been horrified that the woman she’d fallen for was so different from what she’d thought. Instead, though horror and fear did well up inside her, she was also filled with sadness. She was filled with anger at the life that Helena was throwing away too, not just McPherson’s or Weisfelt’s but her own. Leaving Weisfelt slumped against the wall, tattered rags stemming his bleeding for now, Myka slowly got to her feet, making her way in   
Helena’s direction.

“Don’t do this.” She pleaded again, only this time it came as an instruction, as a steady command.

Helena didn’t respond.........she didn’t pull the trigger either.

Drawing closer, Myka spoke again.

“This isn’t who you are.” She clarified, absolute certainty ringing in her voice.

“Maybe it is.” Helena shot back, starring McPherson down.

“Maybe it’s all that’s left.”

“That’s not true.” Myka insisted, stepping in front of McPherson, the barrel of the gun now squarely pointed at her.

“I know you.” She continued, her own steady expression cracking to reveal a brief and sad smile as she raised a hand to cup Helena’s cheek.

“ and if you’re going to do this.” She began again, her steady resolution returning as she gripped the gun and drew it to her own forehead.

“Then you’ll have to shoot me first.”

Helena’s expression flickered, the coldness in her eyes wavering and melting into panic, into uncertainty. The gun suddenly unsteady in her hand.

“Helena.” Myka spoke once more, softly this time, searching deep and dark eyes and reaching with utter belief for the woman she knew, for the woman she loved.

In the deserted gallery, they simply stood, the moment stretching out. As Helena’s hand wavered, as her breath hitched and expression began to flood back into her eyes, the gallery door burst open.

“F.B.I., put your weapon on the ground!” A voice rang out as a dozen or more figures, armed and in jacket’s that clearly marked them as federal agents flooded through the door.

At their head was a woman that to her shock Myka knew, a woman that she quickly recognised rushing to Weisfelt’s side, holstering her weapon. Compassion replaced her authoritative tone as she directed fellow agents to draw Myka, Helena and McPherson into handcuffs.

The woman was Leena Williams, someone Myka only knew as “Professor Nielsen’s” teaching assistant. She wore the same F.B.I. jacket that the other agents wore and she exuded a clear air of command as Weisfelt was tended to and placed on a stretcher.

Drawn away by two agents to the side of the room, along with Helena. Myka was beginning to realise that there was more to this case than they’d discovered, there were details that dramatically altered the established chain of events.

“Jack, Rebecca,” Leena acknowledged, addressing their guards as she approached.

“Go look after Artie. He’s complaining about the stretcher already!”

The agents nodded with a clearly familiar and relieved smile as they left.

Leena paused and turned her attention to Myka and Helena.

“Ladies.....” She began.

“.....we have some talking to do.”


	5. Chapter 5

Leena explained, far more calmly than Myka could have possibly expected, that in fact she and Helena had found their way into an on going investigation by the F.B.I. and through Interpol several other policing authorities around the world. 

Arthur Weisfelt had in fact been an N.S.A. agent but he’d disappeared into deep cover decades ago. On account of his connection to former British intelligence officer and current criminal, James McPherson he had resurface as “Artie Nielsen." Their familiarity had been a perfect way of infiltrating a prolific art theft and counterfeiting ring that was thought responsible for millions of dollars worth of missing works and more than a few murder’s, Christina Wells counted among them. 

The matter was serious and they had severely impeded a federal investigation. Myka couldn’t help but feel Leena’s compassion however and although they were assured that some kind of consequence would be forth coming, the agent inexplicably took pity on Helena and assured that she would vouch for them in due course, as well as granting their immediate freedom.

Outside of the museum they were met with an ambulance attending to a vociferous Weisfelt as well as a ring of city police cars that cordoned off the Institutes entrance. Myka wrapped her arm around a still silent and shaken Helena as they exited, Leena directing them to one more surprise.

Perched on the hood of a police car and half way through a box of donuts, sat Pete and Claudia.

“Mykes!” Pete called as Leena took them through the crowd of officers and agents.

“What are you doing here?” Myka offered, dumbfounded but honestly pleased by their presence.

“Are you ok?!!” Pete continued ignoring the question and drawing her into a hug, his eyes flashing briefly to Helena.

“We’ll be ok” Myka replied, with a heavy breath, stepping back and taking Helena’s hand, greatful for the persistence of her friends.

Events had been dramatic but with the arrival of familiar faces Myka found herself stopping to consider the holiday season again, even after what they’d been through it was still important.

“What about your family?” She questioned, turning from Pete to Claudia.

“What about your brother? We can’t just drag you away from them at Christmas!”

“Hey you’re family too,” Pete grinned back, assurance returning to his face.

“Yeah!” Claudia added.

“Plus, I left Josh at home with Jinxy. I figure the two love birds could use some time alone.” She offered with an easy grin.

“ and we gotta make sure you’re ok!” Pete completed.

“Mr responsible here.....” Claudia continued, hopping off the car and flashing an amused but understanding smile Myka’s way as she pointed to Pete.

“.....got worried about what you were doing. So we called Leena to double check on were the Professor was supposed to be. She put two and two together aaand here we are.” She announced, throwing a concerned glance Helena’s way.

“We got here just in time, huh! She ok?”

Helena was still impassive, her eyes either cast to the ground or lost in the middle distance.

“She will be.” Myka re iterated, drawing Helena closer.

“They released us for now but they’re sending us home under escort. Since Helena’s over 21 and she’s got no family in the country anyway, I’m taking her home with me.”

Claudia and Pete both nodded, aware of the added consequence that knowledge of the day’s events might bring to Myka’s family life.

“You want us to come with you?” Pete offered with an earnest and worried smile.

“No, get back home, sing Christmas carols and eat fruit cake!” Myka insisted. The clarity and confidence in just who she and Helena were, what the day had challenged them with and how they’d come through it, clear in her mind.

“We’ll be ok.”

What Myka didn’t hear as Leena saw them into the back of her car, was Claudia leaning over to Pete and considering.

“Dude..... you think that those two will ever be able to just flirt? I mean without the need for mortal danger!”

Arriving back in Colorado Springs, this time escorted by Leena and her partner, Agent Cho, Myka took in her parent’s store. The title Bering and Sons, etched on to the widow with all of the promise and expectation that it always held for her, was lit from behind by the lights inside. She watched as her parents with her sister following, made their way out into the snow and the gathering dusk as Leena pulled up in front of the store.

“Now,” She began, turning in her seat to face them matter of factly.

“Someone will be here tomorrow to check up on you and to finalise things.” She explained.

“ but between you and me? It’s gonna be fine.” She assured.

“You want us to come in with you?”

“I think it might be better if you don’t” Myka reasoned. She had a lot to talk about with her parents anyway and now, even more to explain.

“My Dad’s not big on guns, or police.”

“Fair enough.” Leena smiled, nodding with an amused grin.

“But if you need to call, either of you, then here’s my number.” She added, searching each young woman’s face with an earnest empathy and passing Myka her card.

Jeannie, Tracy and even Warren greeted them with tentative hugs, gathering them inside and up stairs before questions were asked, before answers were demanded.

“So..” Jeannie began as for the second time in as many days Myka’s bags were laid down upon arrival in her childhood home.

“Sweetheart, we should talk.” She carefully instructed, looking Myka over with concerned but kind eyes and glancing once at a subdued but more present Helena.

Myka had spent a good portion of the plane journey from Chicago back to Denver considering what to tell her family, working out what to say to them and working out what her reasons really were. Even if they had gotten in over their heads and even if Helena’s demons had been brutally exposed to the world, it all seemed clearer than it might have.

Her very first priority though, was making sure Helena was alright.

“We will Mom.” She assured, reaching out with concern to Jeannie and gathering a measured insistence to glance toward her father.

“But first, I’m going to get Helena settled. She could use some rest.”

Not waiting for her parents reply but simply taking Helena’s hand and leading her to the bedroom, Myka insisted with her actions as well as her words.”

Her childhood room was the same as it had always been. A single bed rested against one wall with neatly made sheets and a utilitarian dresser and wardrobe set rested next to it. The sparseness of the items was countered by the desk that accompanied them, it was antique, dark wood and not impeccably maintained but instead marked with the ware of Myka’s usage and that of it’s previous owners. Framing it were two book cases filled to the brim with works of as many different sizes and shapes as books probably came in. They were catalogued and organised into subject matter and author with clear labels and separators marking each section. The conspicuous gaps dotted throughout were un missable, they were gaps left by Myka’s years away at college and her need to carry at least some of her collection with her.

Closing the door behind them, Myka shrugged of her coat and hung it. She carefully watched as Helena slowly sat down on the bed, refusing to make eye contact.

“Helena.” Myka soothed slowly sitting next to her.

“It’s ok.”

They’d talked only briefly during the journey back, Helena had afforded only the basic communication necessary for such a trip and she’d displayed none of her characteristic wit or energy the entire time. She had however, rarely let go of contact with Myka, either through a hand held as they traversed an airport or a head rested on Myka’s shoulder on the plane or in the car. She was making every effort to distance herself but she seemed incapable of it too.

Silence stretched out between them as they sat, Myka finally breaking it, once again linking their hands.

“Talk to me.” She insisted, ducking her head, trying to meet Helena’s gaze.

Helena let out a breath that was more steady and energetic than any she’d managed since the gallery.

“How can I ?” She started.

“How can I possibly explain what I did or how I’m feeling?! I almost killed a man! Even if it was revenge, how is it any different than what happened to Christina?!”

What she was saying was true, she’d clearly been prepared to end the life of whoever appeared to steal the painting, weather they lead to her sister’s killers or not.

“But you didn’t.” Myka clarified slowly.

“I wanted to.” Helena countered, rasing from the bed and breaking contact with Myka’s hand.

“I still want to! That darkness, that rage it’s inside me.” She insisted, pacing the room.

“I feel like it’s all that’s left!” Her voice raised regardless of her surroundings, her arms thrown wide.

Myka paused to consider what she was saying. She knew that it was a part of Helena, a part that she couldn’t push away or ignore but she knew more than that as well.

“Oh don’t!” She began.

“You’re right, it’s there but it’s not all that’s there!” Myka was almost matching Helena in volume but she was carrying with her the instance, the certainty that she’d found through the days events.

“You didn’t kill him! I saw who you are a long time ago, I had faith in you and I was right!”

Raising from her own seat, she approached her wide eyed companion and took her hand back, cupping her cheek and drawing their foreheads together.

“Ok?” She whispered.

When Myka returned to her family Warren and Tracy were waiting expectantly in the living room, gathered on the furniture that had seen an entire childhood through and lit as they had been a day earlier, by the lights of their Christmas tree.

Jeannie was waiting outside Myka’s room.

“Helena’s resting.” Myka began deliberately.

“She hasn’t got any family in the country and she kinda needs some right now.....”

Pausing once to look down at her hands, she added.

“.....and she’s important to me.”

Looking back at her Mom, Myka admitted.

“I guess you need an explanation though.”

Jeannie’s forehead creased carefully in thought and she replied.

“They explained most of it on the phone.”

Mother and Daughter paused, the question in both of their minds awkwardly hanging between them.

“Look, I know I’ve put you guys through a lot already and this is only more.. but Mom I had to do it and honestly.....” She raced out, eyes darting to the living room.

“.....I don’t care if he’s mad.”

Jeannie just smiled.

“Sweetheart.....” She began before pausing to find the right words.

“.....there’s something you should see.”

Jeannie gathered Myka into her own bedroom, decisively reaching into her husbands dresser draw to pull out a printed manuscript. She affectionately brushed her hand across it’s cover before passing it to Myka. Myka looked from her Mom to the manuscript, confused and read it’s title out load.

“The Blue Willow Sky..” She began.

“..by Warren Bering? Dad wrote a book!?”

Myka’s mother and father loved the written word, it was their livelihood and their passion, they’d passed it on to Myka but this was a detail of her father’s literary life that she had known nothing about.

“He’s been writing it and re writing it for decades.” Jeannie explained.

“He gave up a long time ago and he didn’t touch it again, until last year.”

Last year had been when Myka came out. The unresolved tension within their family about her transition, about her life and who she was, remained unresolved. She was sure that what she’d done with Helena in Chicago would only add to her family’s pain, to their confusion about her life.

Myka was still pondering the manuscript’s implications when she recognised Warren’s un mistakable foot steps entering the room. Looking up at him, she felt her first pang of fear since they’d returned evening.

Warren’s expression was pensive but steady, pausing in the doorway he only offered.

“You should read it.”

Myka looked between her father and the manuscript, unsure of his intention, unable to read his emotion.

“Go on,” Warren insisted, approaching Myka and Jeannie and opening the papers to their first page.

“Read.”

Myka hesitantly drew her eyes to the page. Gathering in the words, she reading them out loud at her father’s request.

“When the girl was born..” She began.

“..his first thought was fear. For what? For his daughter, she was his life. His only job now was keeping her safe.”

Myka paused, her concentration broken by the word’s implication. As she gathered herself up to read on, she felt her father’s hand on her shoulder.

“You’ve got your own life.” He started.

“You’re growing up and I should have paid more attention to that.”

Myka looked from the pages to meet Warren’s stare as he continued.

“Maybe it’s time we talked about something other than books.”


	6. Chapter 6

“C’mon! Surely the great H.G. Wells can ice skate?!” Myka insisted, reaching back to pull Helena forward with both hands.

It had been almost a week since they’d returned from Chicago and it had been strange. Myka felt like she was maybe, just maybe beginning to reach an understanding with her family, with her father. Through her continued insistence and honestly without a much of a fight, Helena agreed to stay too. She was healing and there had been bad moments and good moments but she was finally acknowledging her past. She’d suffered through tearful nights talking about Christina, she’d spent time stunning Myka’s parents and sister with her knowledge of literature and her uncanny ability to aid in book restoration. It had also become natural for the two of them to quietly excuse themselves to Myka’s room and spend whole evenings just sitting together reading. 

Hope, appropriately to the season was beginning to find it’s way into their lives.

It was the 24th of December, Christmas Eve and Colorado Springs was abuzz with lights,music and most importantly to the moment at hand, a large ice rink filled with festive revellers.

“I never had the chance to ice skate!” Helena insisted, letting herself be tugged forward by both Myka’s grip and her holiday spirit.

“London’s not as snowy in winter as movies would lead you to believe!” She continued.

Myka grinned playfully and shook her head in mock frustration.

“I happen to know that there are plenty of ice rinks to go around in London at Christmas." She admonished.

“I love ice skating!” She non the less enthused, relentlessly pulling Helena forward.

“I know you’re gonna be a natural.” 

They collected two pairs of skates and moved to a series of wooden benches to put them on.  
In the middle of an anecdote about a childhood skating trip, including her own early mishaps on the ice, Myka suddenly looked up at Helena. With one foot firmly in it’s boot, laces half tied, her face was awash with concern.

“That is, as long as you’re all right?”

Myka remained super aware of Helena’s current fragility, buoying her up when she needed it and also just listening if she needed that too. Even in the middle of their reveries she was keenly aware of the need to check.

Helena, just smiled. Her weariness remained and it washed though her expression, weariness wasn’t alone however. Filled with affection, she reached out through gloved hands to grip Myka’s, assuring.

“I’m fine.”

Standing unsteadily in un familiar footwear and with light returning to her eyes, she presented herself to her companion.

“Righty-ho then ! I believe you were going to teach me to skate?” She grinned with a familiar daring.

Myka paused skeptically for a moment, considering the earnestness of what Helena said and eventually believing, deciding to trust her at her word.

Their progress onto the ice was halting at first but with the aid of a side rail and then a judicious analysis of the physics involved, Helena found her proverbial feet.

Illuminated by lights that glowed red and green and with what was quiet possibly the largest Christmas trees either of them had ever seen standing sentry, they let day turn to dusk. As the sun was setting Helena gripped Myka’s hand tighter and swiftly pulled her away from their fellow skaters, into the center of the the rink.

She wrapped her arms tightly around Myka’s waist and for a moment they just stood together as Nat King Cole sang about chestnuts and open fires in the background. After pulling her glove off as gracefully as possible without letting go of Myka’s waist, Helena drew her hand to the taller woman’s face.

“Thank you.” She whispered, drawing their lips together.

**Author's Note:**

> Ever since I first fell for Warehouse 13 I've had the unshakable feeling that a Myka transfic story would be awesome! 
> 
> It just struck me that various bits of her past work so well if she was a trans woman, the "Not the son in Bering and Sons" bit most of all. It snowballed from there but then again maybe it's just that she's awesome and I wanted to identify with her EVEN more than I already do.
> 
> I've tried and tried to do it justice, hopefully this is at least half good!


End file.
